


They're Wrestling

by ngk_they_said



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dry Humping, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Frottage, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Other, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, maybe Crowley can have a little being submissive as a treat, their Efforts are not described specifically so you can imagine whatever you like, they're switches bitches, this is somewhere between an E and M rating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25051810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ngk_they_said/pseuds/ngk_they_said
Summary: After their first real date, Aziraphale asks Crowley to take him back to Crowley's flat.--"He knew on a rational level that he had nothing to be afraid of, but his nervous energy got the better of him as he considered the heat of Aziraphale's words earlier. He was inviting his best friend, now his lover, over to his flat for what felt like the first time, and Aziraphale clearly had ideas about it--to put it mildly. Being calm was not on the menu."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 219





	They're Wrestling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMoonmothWrites (the_moonmoth)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_moonmoth/gifts).



> This is a gift for Moony--thanks for inspiring me with your stories the last several months, and helping push me to write my own.
> 
> \--
> 
> As mentioned in the tags: this is a fluffy PWP that is not very explicit, but there's not much here if you prefer to avoid sexual content. The characters' Efforts are described in such a way that you can imagine whatever configuration you like.

Crowley stood next to Aziraphale as they rode the lift up to Crowley's flat. Crowley felt almost as nervous as the last time they had been in this lift together, after stepping off the bus from Tadfield. But this time was different. This time, they were free. They were safe. This time, Crowley didn't smell like petrol and burnt rubber. This time, he could stand closer to Aziraphale, and gently stroke his palm with his finger. If he did that, he knew now, Aziraphale would smile bashfully and the whole bloody compartment would take on a subtle angelic glow. Crowley had recently learned that effect was particularly pronounced in enclosed spaces.

Crowley couldn't bring himself to touch him, not quite. Too nervous. Tonight had been their first proper date since they had fallen into their new Arrangement. (So, it was also their first proper date, ever.) Over the past several weeks they had, of course, done the sorts of things people did on dates. Some of that was a continuation of their habits from a more platonic era: they dined in restaurants, went on walks, and perused art galleries. Some of it was new, though, and it left him still reeling with raw intensity at the mere thought that it was real. They cuddled on the sofa while Crowley dozed off. They snogged with Aziraphale pressed against stacks of less-precious books. They talked about sex and their curious inhabitation of human bodies. They fucked on Aziraphale's couch and in his upstairs bedroom. They tried quite a few configurations of all their touching, sometimes with playful curiosity and other times with the intensity of millennia of repressed hunger.

But it hadn't been until tonight that they had gone on a date, on purpose. Crowley had made them a reservation at an exclusive restaurant with a nine-month wait list; Aziraphale had gotten them tickets to a play. Crowley had traded his black jeans for equally tight dress trousers, and adjusted his shirt and jacket slightly to match; Aziraphale had put on cufflinks. After the play, they had walked arm-in-arm into the chilly autumn night, and Aziraphale had leaned in and whispered in Crowley's ear, "You should take me back to your flat, love." Those words, his thick voice, his breath against his ear, all sent a sharp pang deep into Crowley's gut, and lingered around his hips as they walked. There was a mischievous quality to his words that Crowley knew all too well. That realization, too, settled into his gut--nervousness and arousal intertwined. 

And so here they were, in the lift. At this point Crowley had known for a good twenty minutes that he'd be spending the night subject to this absolute bastard's schemes and the furious intensity of his angelic love. He knew on a rational level that he had nothing to be afraid of, but his nervous energy got the better of him as he considered the heat of Aziraphale's words earlier. He was inviting his best friend, now his lover, over to his flat for what felt like the first time, and Aziraphale clearly had ideas about it--to put it mildly. Being calm was not on the menu.

When the lift reached the top floor, Aziraphale hung back, letting Crowley lead the way. He opened his door and stood in the door frame, gesturing for Aziraphale to enter.

"Would you like anything to drink? Wine? Tea?" 

"Not unless you do, dear," Aziraphale said as he carefully removed his coat, and hung it on a rack that hadn't existed a moment ago. 

"Nah, I'm good." Crowley said, removing his own jacket and sunglasses.

Aziraphale smirked at him.

"...I mean, I'm--ah, you know what I mean."

"Well, you know my thoughts on that matter," Aziraphale said, straightening his waistcoat. 

"Hrmph."

"Actually, on a related topic... I wanted to ask you more about this art piece," Aziraphale said, gesturing to the statue in the entry hall. He walked towards it. "I noticed it the morning after we traded faces, but you'd already left for the bookshop by then. I'll confess I was rather curious to know more about it, but then I got a little distracted in the following days and forgot to ask."

"Distracted. Erm. Yeah."

Aziraphale smiled.

"So, are you going to tell me more about it?" Aziraphale's eyes glimmered, and Crowley saw in his gaze the softest streak of mischief. Again.

Oh fuck, Crowley thought. 

"Well, obviously it's depicting the triumph of evil over virtue," Crowley said flatly.

Aziraphale turned towards the statue and stroked the wings of the top figure. "Is it meant to be you and I?" he asked. 

"Unggh. No! No, just, ya know, your general purpose fallen angel battling an anonymous soldier of Heaven's army."

"Battling?" Aziraphale was still examining the statue, his back to Crowley.

"Yes, combat, wrestling, all that..." Crowley was starting to feel a bit faint.

"Hmm. I didn’t think you believed in any of that final battle nonsense. Certainly not anymore," Aziraphale said, and paused. He continued with his performance of examining the statue.

Crowley knew they were past the point that he could fix this with words, so he kept quiet and tried to focus on controlling his racing heartbeat.

"I'm not even sure," Aziraphale continued slowly, "that this 'triumphing' figure on top is the demon." He turned around to face Crowley. "Do you want to know what I think?"

"What do you think?" Crowley managed to say.

"I think..." Aziraphale said, stepping closer. "I think that you would like to say that you've kept this statue around to keep up evil appearances, for the sake of your former colleagues."

"Right..."

"And I also think that, even with them out of the picture, that image of moral superiority is still important to you."

"Moral superiority, sure, 'course..."

Aziraphale leaned forward, grabbed Crowley's silver tie, and used it to pull Crowley forward until his ear met Aziraphale's lips. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "But between us, I think you kept this statue around because sometimes you like the idea of being overtaken by an angel. Is that true, Crowley?"

"Ngk--I--" Crowley's knees quaked.

Aziraphale continued. "It's easy to see that sometimes you like being the powerful one, the one in control. I like that too--do you know how hard it was not to kiss you when you snapped at me at Tadfield Manor? How I swooned all the times you saved me?" Aziraphale went on, still whispering. "I think you also take as much pleasure as I do in being my equal, both as a friend and as a lover. I think you like when I save you too. But in recent weeks, I have reason to suspect that when no one's watching, you might like this." Aziraphale released Crowley's tie, pressed his hands firmly to his shoulders, and pushed him hard against the wall-—somehow with a force whose strength was equal to its care and tenderness. He leaned in further, to trace his tongue around Crowley's ear and whisper, "Do you like this?"

"Nnnnnnhh," Crowley said.

Aziraphale pulled back slightly and looked Crowley in the eyes. "My love, I'm only going to do this with your permission. You know that's so important to me. Can you say yes or no?"

"Yessss..."

"Good," Aziraphale said, and pressed himself against Crowley once more. He kissed him briefly, and took Crowley's hands in his, pinning them against the wall at either side of his head.

"And if you want to stop at any point, how will you let me know?"

"I don't think that will be a problem, angel," Crowley said faintly.

"Crowley."

"Fine, I'd just say stop, then." 

Aziraphale smiled. "Okay, good," he said again. And then Aziraphale moved his whole body at once: he gripped Crowley's hands tighter, pressed his own thigh between Crowley's legs, and captured Crowley's bottom lip between his own. Crowley moaned into Aziraphale's lips, as he felt the sudden shock of pleasure from the pressure of Aziraphale's thigh against him.

Aziraphale's tongue gently parted his lips, and he rocked his thigh steadily against Crowley. Crowley could feel Aziraphale's arousal against his hip. For a moment Crowley felt completely awash with overwhelming desire. He felt the now-familiar jolt of nervous, excited energy as he realized, once again, that this was somehow real, that Aziraphale was kissing him and touching him and neither his brain nor his body nor his demonic soul quite knew how to handle it.

But then Crowley found refuge in the sensation of pressure again: of Aziraphale's palms flat against his, of Aziraphale's chest and soft belly pressing firmly into his own, of the cold and unmoving concrete at his back. That firm, unyielding pressure made him feel--rather unexpectedly--safe, and cared for. That safety was another sensation his body, mind, and demonic soul sometimes struggled to accept; but somehow the consistent, all-over pressure softened him, let him yield to it.

Aziraphale pulled away from Crowley's lips and trailed kisses down the side of his neck.

"Ahhhahhziraphale..."

"Can you show me to your bedroom, love?" Aziraphale spoke into Crowley's neck.

"I uh--can we uh--"

Aziraphale pulled back and looked Crowley in the eyes. "Anything you want, dearest."

"Can we stay here for a bit? The wall against my back, s'nice," Crowley said.

Aziraphale smiled. "Mmm, I think I know what you mean. Touching you is so intense," Aziraphale thrust his thigh between Crowley's hips again. Crowley pushed back into him, moaning. "It's so new still. It's nice to have something to ground you.”

Crowley increased the pace of his movements against Aziraphale's thigh, thrusting what little distance he could underneath Aziraphale's firm pressure. The grinding of their hips built a deeper, slower sensation of arousal than if Aziraphale would just touch him. But Crowley savored how that deep ache was anchored by the cold, hard, wall and the warm, steady pressure of Aziraphale's body. How could his angel be so soft and so firm at the same time? Maybe that was the inherent contradiction of being a principality.

"If I let go of your hands, can you keep them there for me, love?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded. Aziraphale moved his hands to Crowley's hips. He miracled his belt and fasteners loose, and snuck his hands under his waistband, letting his hands tease the skin at Crowley's hip bones. Aziraphale thrust against him, harder.

"Ahh ahh angel, I'm so close, I..."

"Yes, my dearest, I want you to." Aziraphale moved his hands back to Crowley's and kissed him firmly. Crowley thrust up against Aziraphale, hard, and came. His orgasm was a tingling, effervescent energy flooding his body. It moved down to his feet and up to the back of his head—-but it didn't uproot him. He stayed firmly grounded with Aziraphale's thigh at his hips, his hands pinned, their lips locked, and their chests flush. The wall allowed him to really notice his back as much as his front. He closed his eyes and sighed.

Aziraphale released Crowley's hands and wove his fingers through Crowley's hair. He nuzzled against his temple, leaving a kiss on the snake sigil there. "Gorgeous," Aziraphale said softly.

A few moments passed. Aziraphale's firm, unyielding pressure melted into a softer, gentler embrace.

"Did that feel good to you?" Aziraphale asked.

"Yesss. You?"

"Oh yes, I enjoyed it tremendously," Aziraphale smiled.

"Mmmmm."

They were quiet for a moment before Aziraphale leaned in to whisper again. "Some other time," he said, "you should take me to your bedroom. I'd rather like to press you against the mattress and fuck you like the angel in your statue."

"Ungh, they're wrestling, Aziraphale, honestly," Crowley whined.

"Whatever you say, my dear."

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr: @ngk-they-said


End file.
